


Here's to you and your lover-man

by lanyon



Series: Bad Boy Boogie [14]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:06:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent keeps winning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's to you and your lover-man

**Author's Note:**

> +Huge thanks to **Idrilka** for her continuing support. It's hugely appreciated.  
>  +Sorry for the slight delay in updating this series; a combination of work and ill health conspired.  
> +Title from Damien Rice

Countdown to the Draft  
One name that might be familiar to even the most casual NHL fan is that of Max Charbonneau. His older half-brother, Gabriel, is one of the stalwarts of the dynamic Las Vegas Aces. What’s interesting is that Gabriel was drafted in the third-round which is respectable but not phenomenal, by any means. Having been expected to be something of a journeyman player, Charbonneau the Elder defied expectations and won the Calder in his rookie season. He has also worked hard on his discipline and was on course to have a high-scoring season in 2014/15 when he suffered a very serious concussion before Christmas. 

If that’s what Gabriel has achieved, we’re quite excited to see what Max can accomplish. While it’s well known that this season’s rookies are quite likely to be overshadowed by recent college graduate and former hockey prodigy, Jack Zimmermann, we're looking forward to a season featuring another Charbonneau and another Zimmermann.

♠

 _I’ll be watching the draft. Really excited for you. Well done._. Gabriel sends the text before he has time to talk himself out of it. He’s surprised to get a pretty quick reply.

_Wish you could be there but you know how it is._

That warms Gabriel more than it should, probably, given that it’s a reminder that their father can’t bear being in the same space as him anymore. Things are good with Max, though, and Gabriel hopes that he ends up with a decent team, the way that Gabriel did. Gabriel knows he got lucky with the Aces, on many levels. 

He stands up, leaving his phone on the kitchen counter. He’s settling in here, he thinks, but it’s strange having his own house in Montreal, even if his mom and Aurelie are all of a two minute walk away. 

Aurelie helped him decorate. There are family photos in the lounge and a sectional like the one in Beastly’s house in Vegas, except that it’s leather. Aurelie cackled when she made him buy it because, apparently, it’s easily wipeable. 

Gabriel stands in his living room, looking around, and maybe it’s right that he’s bought a house in Montreal before buying one in Las Vegas. He figures this will always be his home. He’s startled when his doorbell rings. It’s loud and shrill and he’s not used to the sound yet. He hurries out to the front hall to open the door.

“Gonna keep me on the front porch, Charbo?”

“Kent,” he breathes. “Oh god. What? You’re in Long Island.”

Kent looks around. “Pretty sure I’m just a guy, in Montreal, standing in front of another guy—”

“I have no idea why I like you so much,” says Gabriel, reaching out with both hands to pull Kent into the house.

“It’s because I’m super hot, right?”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” Gabriel’s laughing against Kent’s mouth and there’s something inside him that’s soaring and swooping and Kent is laughing too. “Oh my god, how are you _here_?”

“Didn’t want to wait. Waiting’s stupid.” Kent’s words are a mumble against Gabriel’s cheek, his breath hot against Gabriel’s ear. 

“You have to be in Vegas tomorrow, for the awards,” says Gabriel, unwilling to unwind his arms from where they’re anchored, around Kent’s waist. 

“Yeah,” says Kent. “My connecting flight was through Montreal. Weird, right?”

Gabriel trails soft kisses along Kent’s jaw, content to continue a path down Kent’s neck. 

“Okay, Charbo. No hickies before photo ops — no, don’t _stop_.” 

Gabriel laughs and steps away. “Let me give you the tour.” He turns around to lead Kent through to the living room.

“Oh my _god_ , now is not the time to be all Canadian and polite,” says Kent, laughing as he slides his arms around Gabriel, pressing up against his back. He noses against the nape of Gabriel’s neck, sending shockwaves and shivers down his spine. 

Gabriel drops his hands to cover Kent’s and he leans back against him. “Bedroom?”

“Please,” says Kent. 

They make it upstairs without falling or injuring themselves, which is a minor miracle because Gabriel can’t keep his eyes open when Kent reaches into the front of his sweatpants, while mouthing at the side of his neck.

“Kent,” he says, on a long drawn-out sigh. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so fucking long,” whispers Kent, squeezing Gabriel’s dick and making Gabriel gasp. 

They scramble into the bedroom and Gabriel turns to start tugging at Kent’s clothes. 

“Why so much plaid?” he asks, muffled against Kent’s mouth. 

“I’m dating a Canadian,” murmurs Kent. “Had to infiltrate his natural habitat.”

It might work as an excuse if Gabriel wasn’t all too aware of how much plaid occupies Kent’s closet. He yanks the shirt down off Kent’s shoulders and then pulls Kent closer to kiss him. Kent’s wearing a ridiculous Aces tank-top that might actually be from the women’s collection.

“Great job, James Bond,” says Gabriel. “Ten out of ten for infiltration skills.”

“I’ll infiltrate you,” says Kent, muttering, as he lets Gabriel tug the top off over his head.

“So damn smooth,” says Gabriel. They make it to the bed and Gabriel’s threadbare sweatpants are torn off him with such enthusiasm that Gabriel thinks they’re probably not salvageable. 

“‘s why you like me,” says Kent, as though he has ever had an ounce of chill in his life. His endless cool on the ice and his staid post-game interviews are a source of hilarity for the rest of the team; it’s pretty clear that the public has no idea that Kent is more than capable of screaming himself hoarse in the locker room if the team aren’t meeting his exacting standards. 

“Mmm, that and these,” says Gabriel, trailing his fingertips down Kent’s abs. He leans in to kiss Kent and they get lost in that for a while, until Gabriel starts to inch down the bed, tracing meandering kisses over Kent’s chest and down to his abs, which deserve all the attention Gabriel can give them, especially because of the way it makes Kent writhe beneath him. 

Gabriel unbuckles Kent’s belt and slowly slides it free of the belt-hoops. He unbuttons the top button and slides down the zip. Maybe he should feel self-conscious, being naked while Kent is sprawled out in front of him, not naked enough, but it’s an imbalance that’s easily corrected. Gabriel hooks his fingers over the waistbands of Kent’s jeans and his briefs and drags them down. When Kent is naked and Gabriel’s resumed his position between Kent’s legs, Gabriel smiles up at him, along the length of his body. Kent has tanlines, already, low on his waist and high on his thighs. 

“C’mon, Charbo,” says Kent, poking at Gabriel’s thigh with his toe. “Some of us have early flights.”

“Some of us have been waiting a really long time for this,” says Gabriel and, amazingly, that shuts Kent up. Gabriel looks up at him and Kent’s biting his lower lip and he’s blushing and Gabriel has to surge up the bed again, to kiss Kent and they gasp into each Kent’s cock brushes against Gabriel’s stomach. 

“What do you want?” asks Kent.

“Everything,” Gabriel whispers, his breath ghosting over Kent’s lips.  
“You — you got it.” 

Kent’s not quiet in bed and it’s pretty delightful, as far as Gabriel’s concerned. He’s demanding, which isn’t surprising, but he’s also really easy to please. Gabriel thinks that Kent’s favourite word might be _yes_. Gabriel has no idea how much time has passed, amidst long, heavy caresses and kisses and strokes but eventually he comes, not long after Kent, and it’s into each other’s mouths, clutching each other’s hips. 

Gabriel is struggling to regulate his breathing, his head pillowed on Kent’s thigh and it’s proving difficult because Kent is still mouthing along the crease at the top of Gabriel’s leg and eventually Gabriel groans and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Just when he thinks that he can’t quite face moving, even if it’s to kiss Kent, the mattress moves beneath him and Kent laboriously crawls down the bed so that they’re lying next to each other again, feet up on the pillows. 

Kent’s flushed and his hair is sticking to his forehead and his lips are swollen and red. His shoulder brushes against Gabriel’s and they lie there in silence for a few more minutes. 

“Wow,” says Kent after a while. “Best layover ever.”

♠

 **Las Vegas Aces** @lasvegasaces  
Congratulations to @kentparson on taking home the Art Ross, the Hart and the Ted Lindsay trophies!

 **Gabriel Charbonneau** @gcharb69  
Well done, Parse. Pls don’t be insufferable now.

 **Jeff** @AcesJeff  
@gcharb69 hi have you MET @kentparson?

 **Kent Parson** @kentparson  
@AcesJeff @gcharb69 don’t be a hater

 **fight me** @hellsqueen  
I am so offended by how hot Parse looks in that tux. 

**battle born** @battlebornhockey  
@hellsqueen i know!! where is our hot mess and what has this pod person done with him??

 **fight me** @hellsqueen  
@battlebornhockey don’t worry. there’ll be new pictures of him in snapbacks and tank-tops before we know it

♠

Gabriel and Aurelie watch the draft together, on Gabriel’s new television. They’ve got popcorn and Aurelie is wearing an oversized Habs jersey, which is mildly offensive, and what makes it worse is that it’s got Bergy’s name and number on it. He throws some popcorn at her, just to make her scowl. 

“What’s he like?” she asks, as McDavid is drafted first, to the surprise of pretty much no one ever. 

“Conor McDavid? Ouch!” Gabriel rubs his arm. “No need to be violent.”

“I thought you were a tough guy. Max. What’s he like?”

“He’s nice,” says Gabriel. “Pretty quiet but I don’t know if that’s just with me because I’ve watched his game play and he doesn’t shut up on the ice. I haven’t spent much time with him, though, you know?”

Aurelie snorts. “Yeah, but I bet Dad and the Wicked Witch aren’t exactly crying into their breakfast at the thought of you basically bankrolling his juniors career.”

Gabriel shrugs. “It’s not for them. It’s for Max.” 

To his surprise, Aurelie leans over and kisses his cheek. “You’re a good brother.” 

Gabriel sits in silence for a moment, watching the draft proceed. “Don’t think I’d be much of anything without you and Mom.”

“Okay, you fucker. You’ll make me cry. Shut up and watch our baby brother be drafted to the Houston Aeros.”

“Wash your mouth out!”

They’re wrestling and Gabriel is _this_ close to winning, for once, when they’re both brought up short by the television. 

_On behalf of Sylvia Dragomirova and whole organisation, the Las Vegas Aces are proud to select, from the Erie Otters, Max Charbonneau._

Gabriel and Aurelie stare at each other.

“Holy shit,” says Aurelie.

“Oh my god,” says Gabriel.

He has no sooner sent a congratulations text to Max than his phone blows up with texts from the team, most of which are from Jeff, enthusing about _MINI CHARBO!_ even though Max is six foot one. 

Gabriel sits back and stares at his phone. He's going to be playing NHL hockey with his little brother.

♠

Spotted in Montreal: Kent Parson seems to like Canada. He was spotted yesterday at Bob Zimmermann’s charity dinner, for disadvantaged kids. Also in attendance were local hockey players, Jack Zimmermann and Gabriel Charbonneau.

♠

Kent chases Charbo’s mouth with his own. Charbo won’t stop smiling which makes kissing difficult but it’s a struggle Kent’s enjoying. 

“You’re drunk,” he whispers against Charbo’s mouth. 

“Wasted,” says Charbo, agreeably. “Take me to bed, or lose me for ever.” 

“I’ll put you to bed,” says Kent, with a deep, comfortable sort of affection. “You can have your wicked way with me in the morning.” 

“You look so fucking good,” says Charbo, running his hands down the front of Kent’s shirt. Kent’s tux jacket is on the floor and his bowtie is hanging, untied, around his neck. His hair is a disaster because Charbo spent the past ten minutes with his fingers buried in there.

Kent helps Charbo get undressed and Charbo is sweetly handsy but with ever-decreasing dexterity and he might be asleep before his head hits the pillow. Kent potters around for a while. He goes downstairs and examines various Charbonneau family photographs, lingering over a framed picture of Charbo with the Stanley Cup. He smiles and tries to make himself comfortable in the living room but it’s not long before he gives it up and goes to join Charbo in bed.

Charbo’s lying on his back, mouth open slightly and he’s snoring and God help Kent, but he finds it endearing. 

Admittedly, he finds it less endearing at three o’clock in the morning when he can’t get back to sleep but he gently nudges Charbo onto his side and curls up behind him. Charbo snorts and snuffles and coughs, before settling down into blessedly quiet, deep breaths. 

Maybe Kent’s in love.

Maybe there’s no maybe about it.

When he wakes up, Charbo is curled up tightly at the edge of the bed and Kent can tell by the tense lines of his shoulders that he’s awake. He inches forward and curves his hand around Charbo’s hip. 

“Morning,” he whispers. “How’s your head?”

Charbo sighs. “Hurts like triple overtime.” 

Kent rubs his hand up and down Charbo’s chest and stomach, freezing when Charbo says, “Jack Zimmerman hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t. Jack Zimmerman isn’t capable of hating anyone.”

There was a time when Kent cruelly thought that Jack Zimmerman wasn’t capable of loving anyone, either. He’s pretty sure he’s wrong because he’s seen how fiercely protective Jack is of his current teammates and friends. Maybe Jack Zimmermann just isn’t capable of loving Kent Parson anymore and getting over that has taken years. Kent shakes his head and kisses Charbo’s shoulder. “Why do you think he hates you?” 

Charbo rolls onto his back and Kent settles his weight on one elbow, looking down at Charbo. He drags a finger down the side of Charbo’s face and leans down to kiss him briefly. Charbo shrugs. “Just the way he was looking at me during dinner.” 

“Aw, Charbo, that’s just his face.”

Charbo smiles a little but he doesn’t look convinced. Kent kisses him again. “Honestly, it’s how Zimms looks at basically everyone except for his mom and, like, some of his teammates.” 

“He doesn’t look at you like that.”

Kent pulls back a little and frowns. “How does he look at me?”

“I dunno. Like he’s trying to figure you out.” Charbo lifts his hand and drags his thumb over Kent’s lower lip. Kent’s unsure about what that means so he ducks his head and kisses him, slipping his tongue between Charbo’s parted lips and, even though they could both do with brushing their teeth, he doesn’t break the kiss until he absolutely has to, and then he starts to kiss along Charbo’s jaw, and down the side of his neck, digging his teeth briefly into the skin over Charbo’s collarbone and smirking against Charbo’s chest as Charbo starts to squirm beneath him. 

Kent drags his hand down Charbo’s body. “Morning, darlin’,” he murmurs before he bites at one of Charbo’s nipples and moans as Charbo buries his fingers in his hair. “C’mon,” Kent says. “Let’s go shower.”

“Don’t wanna get up,” says Charbo, whining a little. 

“Well, I gotta,” says Kent. “I’ve got a brunch meeting.”

Charbo looks adorably confused, a sweaty curl sticking to his forehead. 

“The Zimmermanns, remember?” 

“Right,” says Charbo. “Just  —” 

Kent barely knows what’s happening till his on his back and Charbo’s on top of him, pinning his wrists to the pillow, either side of his head. 

“Well,” says Kent, breathlessly. “ _Oh_ \--”

He likes Charbo’s body. He really does. He teases him, sometimes, about trying to make up the height difference between them with his hair but Kent also really likes Charbo’s hair. During the playoffs, it’s completely out of control and Charbo tries to tie it back and Kent thinks he looks hilarious but PB showed him a website devoted entirely to Charbo’s Man-Bun so Kent might be in the minority on that one. It’s grown a lot in the past few weeks and Charbo’s really starting to look like himself again.

Charbo’s pretty well-muscled, though, and not just in the usual hockey player places. Kent’s hands trail down his back to cup his ass but Charbo’s broad, across the shoulders and chest, and his abs are almost as good as Kent’s. Kent sucks Charbo’s thumb into his mouth and watches as Charbo’s eyelids flutter closed. Once Kent parts his legs, Charbo settles between them, and Kent can feel Charbo’s cock alongside his own and it’s too much, and not nearly enough. He tightens his hands on Charbo’s ass and tries to pull him down closer and Charbo laughs breathlessly and murmurs something unintelligible against the side of Kent’s neck. 

Achingly slowly, Charbo feeds his fingers, one by one, into Kent’s mouth to suck, while he grinds slowly against Kent, with no rhythm to speak of. Kent watches as Charbo licks his palm, his hand glistening with spit, and then Charbo’s reaching down, smearing saliva and and precome over their cocks. He wraps his hand around them both and then starts to rock against Kent in earnest, nosing along Kent’s neck and check until they are mouth to mouth and panting and almost kissing. 

Charbo’s face is not beautiful when he comes, unless there’s something beautiful about all of that intensity and screwed-up features and bright red skin and Kent can’t look away until he has to close his eyes, a loud groan ripped out of his throat, like his orgasm has been ripped out of his whole body.

Charbo wipes his hand on the pillow next to Kent’s head.

“So gross, man,” says Kent, between deep, gasping breaths. 

“Your pillow talk needs work,” says Charbo, shakily lowering himself on top of Kent. 

Kent hums and strokes Charbo’s hair. “Hmm, my come-stained pillow talk needs work, huh?” 

Charbo blows a raspberry on Kent’s chest and Kent squirms, laughing. “C’mon, now we’ve gotta shower.”

“We’ve gotta?”

“You’re not going to make me shower alone, are you?” 

Charbo groans, like his hangover is coming back full force. “You’re lucky I like you.” 

“I am,” says Kent, lightly.

♠

When Kent goes to the Zimmermanns’ place for brunch, it’s not at all awkward, which throws him off stride. Jack is clearly super focused on the upcoming season and Alicia leans over to say, conspiratorially but loudly, “Kent, I hope you can explain to Jack that spending the entire summer training might be counter-productive.”

“Sure,” says Kent, scooping some eggs onto his fork. “Zimms, you gotta take some time, yeah? The season’s gruelling, even without playoffs, and the Falcs are gonna get to the playoffs.”

Jack actually looks up at him and there’s a half-smile on his face, like the corner of his mouth is being tugged up against his will. “We’re gonna get to the playoffs, are we?”

“Sure,” says Kent, shrugging, because it’s just hockey sense. “And it’s super easy to burn out in your rookie season so, you know, listen to your dad.”

Bob’s eyebrows shoot up. 

Kent looks from Alicia to Bob to Jack. “It worked for me?” 

He doesn’t say anything about how, in his rookie season, he was mostly calling Bob to find out how Jack was doing but Bob inevitably steered the conversation towards hockey, with advice on conditioning. 

“Anyway, Zimms,” says Kent. “You gotta show these teenagers who’s boss.” He wants to say, _you gotta show these teenagers who’s really the Next One_ but he figures there’s no point laying it on too thick. 

“Uh-huh,” says Jack, like he knows exactly what Kent’s saying. “And how many of Gretzky’s records have _you_ broken?” 

“Shut up,” says Kent, looking down at his empty plate, because even Kent Parson can’t come into Bad Bob Zimmermann’s house and brag. (It’s two; two of Gretzky’s records and Kent can remember being at Madison Square Garden for Gretzky’s final game with the Rangers and sometimes he doesn’t really believe it of himself, that he could even compare). “Look, Zi— Jack. You should come down to Long Island later in the summer. Meet my guys. Like, Samson? My nutritionist? Is amazing.”

Jack’s nodding, like Kent’s talking sense, and maybe it’s because they’re talking about hockey or maybe it’s because they’re under parental supervision, but it feels like the first decent conversation they’ve had in six years, when they were the Next One and the Next One’s Best Friend.

“That’d be good,” says Jack. “I’m gonna go down to visit a friend in Georgia but, after that, we can definitely work something out.”

If only all olive branches were so easy to grasp. Kent nods. “Definitely.”

When he leaves, it’s only a little awkward.

“You have a rental?” asks Bob. “We could have dropped you to the airport. When’s your flight?”

Kent looks at the car he borrowed from Charbo’s sister; it’s a sporty two-seater but considerably less ostentatious than Kent’s usual choice of rental. “Right, yeah. Not till later.” If three days from now counts as later. Which it definitely does. 

♠

 **Las Vegas Aces** @lasvegasaces  
Happy 25th birthday to @kentparson! Check out our interview with the captain at aces.nhl.com!

♠

[Extract]  
**What’s your ideal birthday party**? I think it’ll be this year’s, actually. I’ll be celebrating at my parents’ place, and a load of the guys are coming over for the weekend. There’ll be fireworks mostly ‘cause I have to share my birthday with America, but it’ll be good. 

**What about the perfect birthday present for Kent Parson**? I think maybe another Stanley Cup would be good? I’ll have to get the guys to club together but yeah, I guess that’s what I’ll be wishing for. 

**So this is the year for the second championship?** For sure. We’ve come close the last two seasons so I think we’re long overdue.

 **And what about facing off against your former Juniors teammate, Jack Zimmermann?** [laughs] I’ve been looking forward to that a long time. Jack’s going to bring something pretty special to the NHL and I’m excited to see what he has to offer.

♠

Kent Parson wakes up to gentle kisses on his birthday. He opens his eyes to the smiling face of Gabriel Charbonneau. This is going to be their year.


End file.
